Off the rollercoaster and into the train wreck
of wars and rumors.
I am so pissed, I could spit.
Or should I say, “my heart is in tumult?”
I read the Psalms and I curse the wicked
(do not fret…yeah right!)
I wait for the Lord to smite! Smite! SMITE!
Destroy the wicked who steal, kill, and destroy.
Peace, like precious time slips away
and will not come back.
I feel myself a vapor in the wind.
I long to be a tree planted by steams of living water.
Help us to count our days (and make our days count.)
To know our finitude.
If the ashes on my forehead don’t do it,
surely this chemo port scar will.
(Inspired by Psalm 90:3-13)